


Old Friends

by slimmest_shady



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Unrequited Crush, sorta???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 04:58:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12028605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slimmest_shady/pseuds/slimmest_shady
Summary: When Oswald receives news of Jim's death, he convinces himself he doesn't care, that he isn't affected, but he somehow finds himself at Jim's grave.





	Old Friends

Some nameless henchman had brought Oswald the news. His expression weary of the reaction of the temperamental kingpin as he leaned over his shoulder to whisper.

The room silent as Oswald had processed what he had just been told, his mouth going dry. “What wonderful news.” His own tone of voice causing him to flinch at the false lightheartedness that coated his tongue, his joyous facade transparent to everyone in the room. 

He gave a slow nod with a tight grin curved on the corner of his lips. With a wave of his hand, the rest of the henchmen filed out of the room quietly. 

His expression falls slack at the silence he’s left behind in. No tears, no tantrum, nothing but thoughts of a friendship left to rot.

Oswald takes that time to ponder.

A bullet to the head by some bank thieves. How anticlimactic, Oswald thought bitterly. He always saw Jim growing old, moving onto bigger and better things, prospering well into his age. He didn’t think a measly bullet would take him down. 

But alas, when Barbara shows up a day after at the lounge with unshed tears and an invitation to the funeral, he finally accepts that James Gordon just wasn’t the untouchable hero everyone, including Oswald, had painted him out to be. 

He doesn’t get an invitation. No, he didn’t expect one, he didn’t expect anything, but there’s still that familiar prick of disappointment that was solely reserved for Jim Gordon to give him. Oswald laughed humorlessly at the realization - of course, only Jim would screw him over just one last time.

He doesn’t attend the funeral a few days later, doesn’t even make an attempt. Instead, he busies himself with work on the gloomy day they bury Jim, tells himself there is more important matters than shedding tears over someone like him, over someone who would not even flinch upon hearing his demise. 

Business is booming that night, as per usual. He quietly watches overhead in his own private section, letting Ivy take over most of the hosting duties. He observes the array of colourful people filling the lounge, enjoying themselves - a distaste for it all thrums at the back of his head. Nobody seems to care that Detective James Gordon is now six feet under, and that just doesn't settle right with Oswald. 

The night is just getting started before he can fully process what he’s doing, in the driver’s seat of his car, and pulling out of the driveway. Not a word uttered to Ivy or Zsasz, he’s gone. Almost as if by muscle memory, he’s swerving his way to Gotham’s cemetery to see an old friend. 

When he pulls up to the graveyard, a dull ache replaces the fiery need to see Jim one last time when he’s reminded of the people he’s said goodbye to here. After a drawn out moment alone in the car, he convinces himself this will be the last time he will allow himself anywhere near. Mustering up the courage, he steps out onto the wet soil. 

It’s windy and damp, the usual Gotham weather - but it feels strangely poetic and relevant on such a day, Oswald thinks.

“Just a quick goodbye, Jim. That’s all you’re getting so don’t flatter yourself.” He mumbles to himself as his coat tails fly up from the persistent wind, his shoes covered in muddy water as he trudges through the plethora of gravestones. He catches a glimpse of the freshly dug grave, pausing before he gravitates towards it thoughtlessly. When he makes out ‘James Gordon’ engraved on the stone his breath catches and his heart clenches.

No, he wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t expecting it to hurt this much, wasn’t expecting the pang of guilt in his chest. He certainly wasn’t ready for the tears that escaped him, leaving him gaping at the grave. The action opens a floodgate of memories of when he would often gape at Jim, not catching himself until the detective gave him an odd look. Only then, he would force his mouth shut and focus on anything else but the other man’s movie star looks and gravelly voice. Oswald clenches his jaw shut with the clap of his teeth, a breathless laugh leaves him at the early thoughts of their relationship. He doesn’t let himself dwell too much on them, instead forcing words out; a distraction. 

“Hello, Jim.” No one is around to hear Oswald but he finds himself embarrassed at how utterly weak his voice sounds, he clears his throat before continuing. “I just came to say goodbye to you, as I fear if I don’t, my conscience will eat me alive. So, goodbye.” He thinks about leaving it there, turning around and letting time heal his opened scars but his shoes remain deeply seated in the soil. 

“Fine, I’ll stay awhile longer.” His voice wavering, unsure of what to say next.

“I don’t even know why I’m here, actually. It’s not like you would’ve wanted me here anyway, it’s not like you would’ve showed up to my funeral. You killed Fish. You don’t even deserve me here.” A moment of silence passes. “That’s the thing, Jim. I was always so willing for you, yet you looked at me...like that, like I was a monster.”

“Before you go, can’t you just tell me why you looked at me like that? Just come back here and tell me the real reason why, then I’ll be on my way. Just come back. And don’t grunt at me and say ‘because you’re a criminal’ with that stupid, gruff voice of yours. Because I did everything for you, lied for you, went to Arkham for you, saved your sorry ass so many times!” He’s yelling now, voice raw with tears, dropping the formalities in his everyday speech. He would be grateful no one is around to see his outburst, but at this point, he probably wouldn’t even care. 

“And that’s why I didn’t associate with you anymore, because you’re nothing but trouble and heartache. Because even after all I did, you were still trying to bring me down. Yet I’m still here, crying like you and I ever actually had something to be mourned for.”

There’s only the whipping of the cold and wet wind bristling through the trees that can be heard, just for a moment before he speaks up, quieter this time.

“It’s ridiculous how obvious my stupid, childish crush was on you. Felt like an idiot whenever you had left, thought back to how many times I just stared at you. Did you notice or were you just pretending not to? Oh, well, suppose it doesn’t matter now. There’s no use in having a crush on a dead guy anyway.” The last few words cause his stomach to lurch, and he forces his mouth shut by pressing his lips into a thin line. He doesn’t want to be here anymore, he decides. Forcing himself to turn around, he makes his way back to the car. 

Jim is gone and Oswald is left alone with unanswered questions. Oswald thinks that’s very Jim Gordon of him.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so incredibly rusty. i haven't written in forever so i'd like to apologize for how crappy this was. hope you enjoyed anyway lol


End file.
